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April 08, 2014

I just watched “Unknown Known” the acclaimed documentary on Donald Rumsfield, which is composed basically of the former Secretary of Defense reading memos he sent to various officials and then his sharing of his reactions to the readings.

One word struch me: Disconnect. Somehow, my reaction was I was viewing an extremely intelligent man who had a life of public service, but seemed, somehow, disconnected.

It brought me back to my recent thoughts of writing a series of blogs about disconnects. I’m convinced that there is a prevalent disconnection that is happening in the Christian church.

The pastors are disconnected from the officials of the denominations. The people in the pews are disconnected from the Gospel being proclaimed, in that they do not, privately, any longer, necessarily, subscribe to the doctrines and polity of the denomination. The pastors and the pew sitters are disconnected from the scriptures in that both pick and choose which verses and interpretations they will follow. And many, both pew-sitters and preachers, are disconnected from the relevance of it all in this technological and educaed world.

Are we living in a time when we’re disconnected from each other, disconnected from any grounding in our faith, disconnected from the gospels, disconnected from each other?

I’m experiencing the feeling that “Disconnected” may be the word that defines our faith journey in the beginning of this century.

Just some thoughts. When I sort it out better, I might write more about it.

March 27, 2014

He’d been the guest preacher for a Lenten service at a nearby church. The parson was feeling good after the service. The attendance was much larger than he’d expected. And the sermon was received well.

After the service the parson was greeting folks. A woman about the parson’s age walked up, shook his hand, and said, “You remember me, don’t you? My sister was a member of your church back in the seventies. I used to come to church with her occasionally.”

The parson studied her face for some clue. There was none. His mind was a complete blank. Finally, he confessed, “I’m so sorry; you look familiar but I just can’t bring up a name.”

The woman smiled. “Oh lighten up, Parson. You only saw me a dozen times or so. And, truth be told I’ve added about as many pounds as I have wrinkles. My sister was Agnes Warren.”

“Oh, Agnes’ sister ….”

“Parson,” she interrupted. “Don’t lie after you preached such a nice sermon. You still don’t remember me. But don’t despair. If you want to know the truth I wouldn’t know who you were had your name not been printed in the bulletin.”

March 26, 2014

Do you know how you can go days and days and days without getting any real information on people? Sometimes you find out things have happened to various people long after those events have happened to those people. You find out so late because, well, people just don’t keep others up-to-date on what’s happening in their world the way they used to.

Nowadays folks stay inside so much they rarely talk to their neighbors. When we do contact. it’s by social media. We post it on Facebook, assuming everybody within our social circle will check our Facebook page. We email. We text. But because of the limitations of these twenty-first century methods we seldom get the real story. That’s why I’m taking this space to bring you up-to-date on some happenings of which you may not be aware.

Frank was released from jail a couple of weeks ago. He’d been incarcerated for what Frank called a minor disagreement. Now, he’s out. He told his cousin Fred that he wasn’t going to let anybody push him around anymore. He said he was from Detroit and he was one mean fellow who could not be messed with anymore. But his other cousin Robert told Frank he was nuts. Robert told Frank that he hadn’t been in Detroit since he was twelve, that now he was from Georgia and if he wanted to stay out of jail he ought to quit acting like he was some tough guy from Detroit.

Poor of Frank. Maybe his cousins will be able to keep him on the straight and narrow.

Debra is pregnant. Again. The pregnancy isn’t as bad as the fact that the father is that no good Benjamin. Gracious, Benjamin doesn’t provide any support for the other child. No one in the family can understand why Debra keeps acting like Benjamin is so special. Everyone in the family knows he’s not.

Sam and Sarah found out their house is being foreclosed on. Turns out Sam’s mother decided that tough love was the better of the choices. She’s helped them out countless times before. But she’s not going to do it anymore. She told her niece Jennifer that she only had so much money, that she’d worked all her life and saved every penny she could so she could take some trips and see some places before she died. She’s decided to take her trips and stop paying Sam’s mortgage payments. Sam and Sarah have moved into a duplex Sarah’s daddy owns.

Pearl Jenkins had to have all her teeth pulled. It’s the result of some oral disease she’d been warned about. Jack Snyder broke his leg in three places when he jumped off an embankment in an effort to impress his new girlfriend.

Gracious, so many folks with so many difficulties. I learned about all these family tragedies as I sat in the surgical waiting room at Hamilton Memorial Hospital in Dalton, Georgia. My uncle was having a procedure done. I, having risen at the crack of dawn, sat in the seat, eyes closed, trying to doze contentedly. Unable to do so, still with eyes closed, I listened to the conversations around me.

When the lady came over and told me my uncle had been taken to a room and I could go see him I was relieved. I was relieved I didn’t have to pray for him anymore. While he was in surgery my prayer list got over-populated.

May 27, 2013

I had
the opportunity to view things from the other side of the pulpit
recently. I attended a get-together where I didn't speak; I listened.
I got to view the congregation from the perspective of a congregant.
I experienced the view of the back of heads, the distraction of
someone shuffling around a couple pews behind me, and the – well
what adjective describes one sitting two people down the pew from me
playing video games on the smart phone during the sermon?

Despite
the distractions, it was a good experience. Maybe churches should
require the pastor to sit in the pew during one worship service a
year. It would keep the ordained more aware of the layperson.

But,
sitting there prompted me to write this little epistle. I'd like to
talk to you about proper pew conduct. Please don't take this as a
lecture from the clergy to the laity, but, rather, accept this as
some suggestions that might keep you in your pastor's good graces.

Let's
begin with the obvious. Listen folks, I know we're living in the age
of total hydration, and there are places to carry your large economy
size plastic bottle of water bubbled up from the depth of the natural
springs. The worship service is not one of them. So, I'm sitting
there in the pew, listening to the preacher trying to inspire the
congregation, and two rows in front of me, about ten degrees to the
right, this fellow lifts his bottle of water, unscrews the top,
raises the bottle to his lips, tilts his head back and gurgles down
about a third of the contents. It's rude. It's self-centered. And,
after researching this following the service, I can tell you for a
fact that not one person in recorded history has ever died of thirst
during a sermon.

Speaking
of that plastic bottle of water, if you insist on partaking of the
liquid during the service and you drain the bottle, do not, let me
repeat, do not leave that empty bottle decorating the pew following
your exit.

Speaking
of decorating the pew, I've served churches where I could tell you
which members eat breakfast at which restaurants. I can do this
because people usually sit in the same pew Sunday after Sunday. When
there's an Egg McMuffin wrapper in the same spot where you sit Sunday
after Sunday, I become aware of your Sunday culinary habits. And,
since folks sit in the same seat Sunday after Sunday, I know who left
the trash.

There
are a few other tips I can give you. For instance, when the offering
plate is passed around, don't, I repeat, don't make change for your
donation. I mean, if you don't put anything in the plate those near
you will think you must have given a month's offering last Sunday.
But if you make change they are going to think you're cheap.

About
the chewing gum. Okay, Mama said if you can't say anything nice about
someone don't say anything. So, I'm not going to say anything about
anyone who sticks chewed chewing gum on the bottom of the pew. But
the chewing gum does bring up a mystery. I've been a pastor for over
forty-five years. There's one thing about church people that drives
me to distraction. Don't ever stuff your chewing gum wrapper in that
little hole beside the pew envelopes that hold the pencils. They
can't be unpacked!

February 23, 2011

The meeting was over, but no one seemed in a hurry to leave. The conversation centered for a while on each participant's hopes for the church in the next few years. There was laughter; there was a sense of pride. The parson, sitting at the corner of the table, listened with pleasure.

Eventually, the talk wandered to more personal matters. “Fran,” one lady asked another, “how are things with your sister?”

“How are things with Helen? Oh, my goodness, do you have a few hours. I don't know what we're going to do with her.” Everyone listed to the tale of Helen's refusal to assert herself in a difficult situation at her work. “I'm just flabbergasted,” said Fran, “Mama wouldn't want her rolling over and playing dead like that.”

“I know what you mean,” interjected Susan. “Have you heard about Sam and Veronica? They decided they're not going to church anymore. I mean, just out of nowhere they're not attending. You know Sam was the lay leader of his church for a long time. Veronica says it has nothing to do with the new preacher. But you have to wonder.”

The conversation headed around the corner and seemed to be gathering in all the disappointing people in the community to the table. The parson listened quietly. Susan finally turned to him. “Parson, what do you think about all these people? It seems like everywhere we look people are, well, you know ...”

The parson rose in preparation for leaving. “You know, Susan, my grandfather used to say, “To live above with those we love, well that will be glory. To live below with those we know, now that's a different story.”

January 10, 2011

I studied him carefully. There was something vaguely familiar about his face but the memory would not come into focus. A former parishioner? My mind quickly attempted an inventory of remembered members. Nothing. College? Another quick inventory brought the same futile results. There was no way to avoid the answer.

“Come on, guess. You don't remember do you. Okay, but you remember Doris,” he said, pointing to the woman beside him. As he pointed I looked at Doris. She was not familiar at all. I did not remember Doris. “Remember, 1963. Oh my goodness, those were the days. We didn't have a care in the world back then. And you certainly had a take no prisoners attitude. It's a wonder you didn't get kicked out of school with all those pranks you pulled.”

Ah ha, I thought. Okay, college. Pranks. Here's a clue. But wait, to this day Jim and I had kept our vow of silence. We were still the only ones who knew. Could Jim have possibly given it up after all these years? Naw, we promised each other we'd never tell who put the cow in the dean's office. Naw. Jim wouldn't have told unless he checked with me first. Still, 1963? Pranks? What else could they be talking about?

I stared more intently at him and his wife. Still memory would not activate any recognition. And yet, they seemed to know about the pranks.

“You know,” he said, “it was just yesterday Doris was talking about that girl you brought to the dance. What in the world was her name? She didn't go to our college. Was she a local girl? I tell you this, she was a looker. Everybody at the dance was envious of you. Doris thinks she was a bit older than you.”

I thought again. A dance date who was good looking. What dance were they taking about? Could they have been talking about Pamela Jane? She did go to the spring dance with me. She was a looker. Okay, pranks and a dance and a pretty girl. Why can't I put these together?

I didn't want to hurt their feelings. But who were they? What was wrong? Why couldn't I place them? Maybe. Maybe it was because he hadn't told me his name. I pointed to his wife. “Doris. Doris. But remind me of your name,” I said to him.

“My name. Oh, my goodness, you don't remember. Edward. It's Edward,” he said holding his arms out to the side in a “here I am” gesture.

Edward? 1963? Pranks? Good looking date? Nope. I couldn't put the name Edward with any of it.

January 04, 2011

The parson sat in the customer service waiting room of the car dealer reading from his Kindle. The car dealer was a hundred miles from his home. There was little chance of anyone he knew interrupting. And so he read with relish and enjoyment. His deep absorption in the work resulted in no small part from the non-theological theme of the book. It was John Grisham's latest, The Confession.

One of the novel's main characters, the Reverend Keith Schroeder, had just engaged the main villian when it happened.

“Excuse me,” she said. “You're the Parson.” As she spoke she sat down in the chair adjacent in a manner that indicated a conversation was not to be avoided.

“Yes, Ma'am, I am,” the parson replied.

“Oh, I knew it. I heard you preach over at Reverend Benjamin Allen's church. I'm not a member there, but my sister is and she and I were going to visit with my Unclle Edwin that afternoon so I went to church with her so we could get a good start on the trip to Edwin's. You know what? I can still remember what you preached on. You preached on Jesus calling the disciples and how they left their nets and you said nobody ever thinks about the daddy who had to clean up the nets and the fish because they left them laying around. I just thought that was such a fresh approach. Isn't that amazing. I mean that sermon was almost two years ago and I can still remember it.”

Of course you wouldn't,” she said as she placed her hand on the parson's arm. “I only met you once and just for a minute after the service. I'm Rhonda Collins sister. Oh, wait, you don't know my sister because you just preached there that one time. Oh, how silly of me. Anyway I knew it was you when I saw you sitting here. You know I read your book. Rhonda's husband told me about it on the ride to Uncle Edwin's. I really enjoyed it.”

“Thank you,” said the parson. “That, too, is flattering. Did you tell me your name?”

“Of course, I did. Remember, I'm Rhonda Collin's sister. You know, Rhonda's husband, Howard, he told me about your blog and now I read that regularly.” She looked across the room at a woman who was just sitting down. “Oh, my goodness, how are you Patricia? I haven't seen you for a while. Do you know the Parson? He writes books and writes on the internet. You should read some of the things he writes.”

She turned back to the parson. “Can I ask you a question? Do all those things really happen to you. I mean there's something different in there every day. I talked to Howard about it and he said that he doubted you ever wrote about what exactly happens. He said that he thinks something happens and you take that little something and turn it into a story. I told him I bet you sometimes actually write exactly what happened.”

She took a deep breath in preparation forpiling on some more words, but was interrupted by the service representative. “Mrs. Harrington. Your car's ready.”

She got up to leave and headed toward the door. Halfway there she turned back to the parson, “Maybe I can catch you again before you leave. I'm dying to know whether Howard or I am right.”

December 31, 2010

The parson looked at the screen on the iPhone. His mind quickly weighed the options available to him: 1) let it go to voice mail, 2) let it go to voice mail and then delete the message before listening, 3) let it go to voice mail and listen to the message and then delete it without returning the call, 4) and the least attractive choice was to answer the phone. Realizing the first three options only put off the inevitable conversation he chose number four.

“Hello, Sharon. How are you?”

“I'm fine, Parson. I'm must fine.”

“Well, what prompts the pleasure of your call at this early hour?” asked the parson.

“What prompts my call is that Ed and I have decided we need to do something to make sure you're okay.”

“Thanks for your thoughtfulness, Sharon. I'm as good as I can be under the circumstances.”

“Well, we were talking about those circumstances, Parson. And Ed has said it will be okay for me to come over to your house two or three times a week and straighten up and clean up.”

“That's awfully kind of you, Sharon. But I'm managing on my own. I really do appreciate the offer.”

“Parson, there's no reason for you to send your laundry out. There's no reason why I can't come over there and take care of that.”

“I don't send my laundry out, Sharon. When I was in graduate school I took an advance course in washing machine operation. I also took a course in ironing.”

“Very funny, Parson. Seriously, you need some help. Without Ms. Parson around to take care of things you need some help and we're going to give it.”

“Sharon,” the parson said in a steady and deliberate tone, “no one is going to be trapsing about my house. It might surprise you to know I'm pretty good at picking up after myself.”

“Nevertheless, Parson ….”

“Nevertheless, Sharon, while I appreciate your intention, the very last thing I need now is to have to worry about someone in my house. Thank you for what you want to do, but I'm going to manage on my own.”

“I can't believe you're refusing to let us take care of you.”

“I'm not, Sharon, I'm just rejecting your definition of what I need. I tell you what, if you really want to help why don't you get on the phone and call everybody you can think of. Invite them to come to church this Sunday. It's the first Sunday of the new year and the best thing you could do for me is to fill up every pew this Sunday.”

“Well, I don't know about that, Parson. I'm not sure folks would appreciate me calling and telling them they need to go to church.”

“You know, Sharon, I've got a feeling you'll be able to overcome that reluctance to interfere. I'm getting real excited about seeing all those faces Sunday. You and Ed have a great day. And thanks for calling.”

November 11, 2010

The parson woke early and, after loading Charlie Brown, his faithful canine companion, in the back seat, headed south to the Really, Really Big City. The incoming Council on Ministries of his church would soon be working out details on the coming year. A passel of denominational programming calendars would be needed. Thus, he headed toward the Really, Really Big City and the denominational book store.

A stop at the QuikTrip, America's exceptional gas and convenience store, allowed the parson his morning exercise as he walked Charlie Brown around the half mile circumference of the facility. He placed Charlie Brown back in the car, headed inside to acquire his daily dose of cappuccino, returned to the car and the two headed down the interstate.

Being the first customer of the day, the parson got the royal treatment. The manager pointed out the various sales they had going with one shelf full of books for one dollar. After picking up his supply of calendars the parson wandered about the store looking at the purchase opportunities. It took only a few minutes to ascertain why the dollar books were being sold at that price. Back in the corner with the other sale books, the parson did find a few bargains and placed them in the stack with the church supplies. He took a few moments to walk the aisles but paused only to contemplate the placement of a book about Sarah Palin next to a book about Dietrich Bonhoeffer. Unable to unravel the logic he headed to the checkout.

The parson let Charlie Brown out to walk about and lay claim to any shrubs that interested him. None did; no more than twenty feet from the car he turned and walked back, jumped in and plopped down. The trip home was uneventful. The miles clicked off in a steady cadence, one mile flowing into the other to the rhythms of NPR's Performance Today. Two-thirds the way home the parson switched the station to WUTC, NPR in Chattanooga, and the eclectic music selected by Cleveland Carlson.

The gas gauge was flirting with empty as the parson and Charlie Brown approached again the Quik Trip exit. He pulled off and headed to the pump. While filling the tank, the parson was hailed by the man at the opposite pump.

“Hey, fellow,” he said as he pointed toward Charlie Brown sitting in the back seat, “what kind of dog is that?”

“My goodness, that's a really fine looking animal. Whew, he's got my dog beat. My dog's named “Shirley,” she's part Pekingese and part Basset Hound. I've got to tell you she's a strange looking dog. But me and Mildred love her. We just couldn't get along without her. We've been married for about thirty years now and she's only the second dog we've had. The first was a Boxer, but that dog didn't have the personality that Shirley had. I mean, you've got a fine dog there, but Shirley, while she cain't hold a candle to that dog of yours, well, me and Mildred think she's just fine cause she's just part of the family. Mildred and I met when I got back from serving in the United States Navy. I was on a carrier. Sailed all over the world, I want to tell you. Anyway, when we got back my sister, Helen, she's the baby of the family, she introduced me and Mildred and wouldn't you know it we just fell in love and got married. We had three kids, but they are all grown now. The youngest, he's in the Navy himself. And he's sailing on the USS Abraham Lincoln, a carrier man just like his old man. So anyway the nest is empty and all Mildred and I have is Shirley. She's good company; but, like I say, she's not the kind of dog your dog is. Shirley's a nurse; well, she's not a registered nurse. She's a LPN, but she's real good at her job. I tell you there have been all kinds of times when I was under the weather and Shirley got me back on my feet just as quick as a thief running when he hears a gun cocking. Yeah, she's really good. Mildred's not working in the hospital anymore, though. She kind of wanted to get off her feet a bit. She's got some kind of problem that makes her ankle swell if she's on those hard hospital floors too long. So she's become a home nurse; you know, she goes to the sick person's house and stays with them during the day. She meets lots of interesting people. And I have to tell you she is pretty popular with the families. Shirley ain't never met a stranger. Our preacher made her the greeter at the church because she's so friendly with everyone. We go to the Church of the Gathered down on Highway 46. I'm sure you've heard of it. Brother Horace Restive is the pastor there. Whewee, can that man preach! You should come and visit with us some time. Well, anyway, it was nice to talk with you. Say, do you think I could pet that fine dog of yours?

“Sure,” said the parson. He stepped back. The man reached in the window. Charlie Brown extended his head. The man petted him and said, “Hello, Charlie Brown.

“Well, I've got to go now,” he said. “I don't know if I told you are not, but I'm headed over to Owens Brick Yard. I hear they're hiring some part time people and I thought I'd see if I could get on. I don't really need the extra work but we can always find a way to spend the money. Christmas is coming us and with those grandkids we'll sure enough be able to spend it. Oh, my goodness, look at the time. I've got to hurry over to the brick yard. Sorry, to rush off like this. It was nice talking with you.”

The parson watched him drive away. He got in the car and pulled away from the pump to park at the front of the store in case another needed the spot to fill up. As he walked to the door Helen Sparks, a member of his church was coming out.

“Parson, I saw you talking to Fred Peavy; I didn't know you knew Fred.”

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